


What A Little Moonlight Can Do

by henrywinters



Series: White Foxes [2]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, M/M, Multi, but not really, more like student/mentor.... it's all consensual ofc and everyone is of age nothing too risque here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9943721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henrywinters/pseuds/henrywinters
Summary: Sanghyuk, actor in the making, falls head over heels for his theatre instructor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is somewhat a sequel (perhaps, more of a spin-off) and you don't have to read the first part of the series to enjoy this story, though i recommend you do so for a greater understanding of the verse (and chasang's relationship). alas, lower any and all expectations!! this is such a terribly romantic fic idk what to do about it. IT'S SO CHEESE

_they say that falling in love is wonderful_  
_it's wonderful, so they say_  
_and with the moon up above, it's wonderful_  
_it's wonderful, so they tell me_  
— **frank sinatra** , they say it's wonderful

 

 

 

It had been shortly after four o'clock when Sanghyuk had burst through the front doors of the estate, Hongbin breathless on his heels. He could not remember what they had been laughing about, but the airy wheeze of Hongbin's dying laughter was enough to send him into a new fit of giggles.

 

'You're an idiot,' Hongbin declared, weaving expertly through the sitting area and into the kitchen. Taekwoon was alone at the sink, filling a small pan with steaming water. 'What are you making?'

 

'Coffee. Where are the others?'

 

'We left them at the lake,' Sanghyuk said. He sat at the breakfast bar, pushing aside the untidy cluster of newspapers. His hand came back dusted grey.

 

'They've fallen in love,' Hongbin said dramatically, an eccentric wave of his hand. Sanghyuk snorted.

 

'How can you tell?'

 

'I just _can_ , Taekwoon-ah. You can't?'

 

'I can't say that I've observed them very closely.' He closed the lid atop the carafe, the rich smell of coffee beans emitting warmly. 'That's good to hear.'

 

'Yes,' Hongbin murmured. He was drawing abstractly across the counter top with the tip of his index finger, dreamlike wonderment having fallen over his face. 'What are we doing tonight?'

 

'Nothing in particular.'

 

It was as they fell into their usual comfortable banter, deciding between which restaurants they should order from, or perhaps should they run into town just the two of them—'Of course,' Hongbin turned to Sanghyuk, 'you can come along too, Hyukie'—Sanghyuk found himself growing despondent. He pulled the newspaper in front of himself, and by the dim sallow light of the candelabra, began to read the day's weather. He didn't take into consideration that the day was nearly spent.

 

'Snowstorms,' he barked, quite suddenly. 'It says here there are going to be snowstorms.'

 

Taekwoon glowered. 'Why? It's not even December.'

 

'But it will be. In two days.'

 

'I suppose.'

 

'You _suppose_?' Sanghyuk returned to the paper, flipping through mild cartoons and advertisements for car dealerships. 'You can't just _suppose_ the date, hyung.' He passed over a page filled with pictures of fresh produce, and it was then Hongbin, who had been reading over his shoulder, turned to Taekwoon.

 

'Why don't we order some groceries? That way we can have a nice dinner for Hakyeon tomorrow.'

 

'You know he never comes on Sundays.'

 

'That's right...' Hongbin laid his chin over the curve of Sanghyuk's shoulder. He smelled distantly of pine needles and cologne. 'Well, we can still order some and have a nice dinner before we head back to campus.'

 

They continued to speak of upcoming plans, their voices falling easily into a familiar cadence Sanghyuk had grown to be comforted by, much the way he had been eased by his own mother's voice as she spoke to his father during late evenings and early winter breakfast. They became white noise in a silent kitchen, the watery sound of coffee in a mug; the clatter of ceramic as Taekwoon placed a cup in front of Sanghyuk. It seemed, Taekwoon could never remember that the Brazilian blend—far too abrasive in taste—was something Sanghyuk openly despised. But he drank it anyway as Hongbin slipped into the comfort of Taekwoon's side, both of them lost to their own world.

 

Later, when the three of them had gone upstairs to the library, and the austere remnants of Debussy flowed deeply from the Baldwin, Sanghyuk thought he heard the front door open. He scurried quickly from the library's small upstairs down to the farther regions of the house, leaving behind Hongbin's low crooning whisper as he had draped himself over the piano to better look Taekwoon in the eye, but he was quickly presented with the murmuring whispers of secrecy from the kitchen. Jaehwan, with Wonsik close beside him, was filling the freshly washed mugs with coffee, speaking of time alone.

 

'— _just ourselves_ ,' came Jaehwan's hushed whisper. Then, the soft clatter of glass, followed by the scuffle of socked feet on the cherry oak flooring.

 

An overwhelming sense of neglect blanketed Sanghyuk suddenly as he stood between the kitchen and the dining hall. The music from the library had stealthily fallen away, muted as he presumed Hongbin and Taekwoon had carried themselves elsewhere: the widow's walk, or the balcony perhaps. Somewhere, he understood, where they could be alone.

 

Dread was a strange feeling, Sanghyuk concluded; stranger even than loneliness, for it wasn't something that could be taken away by the replacement of something else. He took the pack of lucky strike cigarettes from the top of the spice rack, and a bottle of sherry they had opened the night before. Then, without pause as the beginnings of music trickled out of the upstairs bedroom, Sanghyuk slipped onto the front porch. The wind was blowing precariously for so late in the night. The sky was an empty drapery of bluing black, starless but bright.

 

Stooped on the top step of the porch, Sanghyuk lit a cigarette and tasted the wine. It had already gone flat as he expected it to be, but it was still sweet enough to swallow down. And as he sat alone, bombarded with mute reveries of Woolley House parties and the occasional night spent in town with Wonsik at the bars, he became painfully aware that this was the first night in quite some time that he wished to be back in his dorm.

 

'What in God's name are you doing out here alone?' came a startling, but kindly voice; it reverberated deeply within the swelling yawn of wind. 'You haven't even a jacket, Sanghyuk-ie, you'll catch a cold.'

 

It was Hakyeon. His hair was blown forward and over his eyes, his face partly concealed as if in hiding, and he wore a tall collared white dress shirt beneath a primrose sweater. In his hand was a single bottle of port wine.

 

It was difficult to speak when Hakyeon appeared so suddenly this way. It would happen often when in rehearsal: Sanghyuk, poised as elegantly as his nimble and long limbs allowed him to be, would be thrown into a stumbling stupor as Hakyeon called for him across stage, or when he poked his head into the dressing room to congratulate Sanghyuk on his performance; it would be impossible, even then, to make eye contact through the reflection on the mirror. But to have it happen now when his guard had fallen so drastically low, was like a swift kick in the gut. Sanghyuk shrank into himself.

 

'Aren't you gonna tell me?' Hakyeon smiled. Always he was smiling, like a brilliant star too bright even for the night sky.

 

'Oh, I—' Sanghyuk lifted his hand. 'I came to smoke.'

 

'Where is everyone?'

 

'Inside.'

 

'Are they busy?'

 

'Well, I dunno. I don't think so.' Sanghyuk was suddenly sure that if he said the wrong thing, Hakyeon would simply turn on his heels and walk back to his car. He would slip away into the blue dark, gone until Monday—that was, _if_ he arrived for practice that week at all.

 

Hastily, Sanghyuk rose from the porch. 'If you go inside though, I know they'll be happy to see you, hyung.'

 

'No, that's alright.' He touched Sanghyuk's shoulder, applying the faintest of weight, but it was enough for Sanghyuk to understand: sit back down. And so he did, with Hakyeon sat beside him.

 

'I take it Wonsik and Jaehwan are getting along?'

 

Sanghyuk nodded, with his mouth bitten closed. Then, rather loudly— _too_ loudly almost, 'Hongbin says they're in love.'

 

Hakyeon's face softened. Was such a thing possible, Sanghyuk wondered idly. Hakyeon was already so genial, but it seemed his eyes became clearer, the ghost of a smile right there at the corner of his mouth.

 

'And Taekwoonie and Hongbin are—?'

 

'I think on the roof.'

 

'So that's why you're out here. I wanted to stop by and see how everyone was doing, but if they're so occupied.'

 

' _No —_ Hyung, please. You know if you go inside they'll stop whatever they're doing. I don't think they can really be doing anything important anyway.'

 

'That's alright,' Hakyeon said quite simply. There was a playful lilt to his tone; a teasing sort of drift that wound between his words, and a glimmer in his starlight eyes. 'Since you're out here, and you look so nice already, why don't we go have dinner together?'

 

It was then the cigarette burned too closely between Sanghyuk's fingers. A sharp jolt of pain and a spasm of muscles that resulted in both a yelp, and the cigarette falling between his shoes. Embarrassment clouded his head, gave him the sense of utter, utter weakness as he looked up into Hakyeon's face.

 

'Let me see.' He took Sanghyuk's hand. His fingers were slim and long, but his palms were small. It seemed Sanghyuk could easily hold both of Hakyeon's hands within his one, and the idea of closing his fingers around those small fingers which touched him delicately came as a blossoming urge so deeply felt, he couldn't bear it. He pulled his hand away quickly.

 

'It's fine,' he promised.

 

'Why don't I just go put this inside?' He took the port wine, noticing the bottle of sherry a moment later. 'Did you drink all of that by yourself?'

 

'No, I... I really didn't.'

 

'Here.' He dug a key ring out of the front pocket of his trousers and placed it inside Sanghyuk's hand. 'You can go start the car so the engine warms up, and I'll be right there.'

 

But he paused at the front door to say, 'It's supposed to snow. Did you hear about that?'

 

'Yes,' Sanghyuk called softly.

 

'We should be careful then.'

 

He had only ever been inside Hakyeon's car once before, when he had been asked to accompany a trip to a neighboring school, and it had been a stressful long half hour as they waded through traffic, the late blooms of summer trees falling in bundles across the windshield. It had been a shower of pink petals, some white that had reflected the summer light, so blinding Sanghyuk had stared regretfully at his closed hands the whole way through. But as he sat within the car now, running the tip of his thumb over the padded leather interior, his anxiety dwindled gently. On the radio: a woman's robust voice soothed in ways Sanghyuk had not anticipated.

 

'So where do you wanna go?' Hakyeon asked as he opened the driver side door. The calm was shattered; Sanghyuk grew weary. 'Anything in mind?'

 

'No.'

 

'Anywhere will do?'

 

'Yes.'

 

Hakyeon eyed him skeptically, but without losing his gentle demeanor. 'Well, alright.'

The restaurant was just like any other Sanghyuk had gone to before. White walls and large windows opening out onto lawns gone to yellow now that the cold had settled in. The trees had started to lose their color, bare limbs tapping melodically against window panes, and the bustling noise of the kitchen: china plates clattering like chimes, the swell of music from an invisible speaker somewhere overhead.

 

'It's nice you were outside,' Hakyeon began slowly. He poured his port wine into an empty glass. Sanghyuk didn't think this was totally acceptable in such a poised restaurant, but when the waitress came she made no inclination to the bottle on the table.

 

'Why?'

 

'I've been wanting to talk to you about something, but I can't ever get you alone.' Amusement sparkled across dim colored irises. 'You have this tendency of running away whenever I'm around. Have you noticed?'

 

Sanghyuk laughed despite the growing heat in his belly. How stupid he must have looked. All those times he had darted from the kitchen when Hakyeon grew too close, or the evenings on campus when, from afar, Hakyeon would wave to him. Sanghyuk had resorted to ducking into corridors, into classrooms, to hide from his searching eyes. He had thought himself clandestine.

 

'No,' he remarked. 'I didn't notice.'

 

'Maybe my timing is always off. But whatever the reason, I have you now.' He drank from his glass, the fine crystalline rim clouding over as he breathed against it. 'I wanted to tell you I really loved how you were in A Winter's Tale. I think you've improved a lot, Hyukie, and...' He smiled over the rim of his glass.

 

'What?'

 

'I wanna put you as lead for the next production.'

 

Sanghyuk had not realized he had been leaning forward until he collapsed back into his seat, the air pushed from his lungs as if Hakyeon's words had reached into him and squeezed his insides.

 

'Really, hyung? What is it?'

 

'I haven't decided yet. Something big, though.'

 

It was there the conversation seemed to stop. The food came—an array of appetizers, for Hakyeon had a way about himself of never ordering a full course meal, but rather all the appetizers from the front page of the menu—, a blend of anchovy crisps, and chicken croquettes and a flowery arrangement of dragon fruit that Sanghyuk didn't like, but ate most of, for Hakyeon kept piling it on his plate. They drank too much wine, the bottle of port and two bottles of ale that went flat too quickly. And all the alcohol shrouded Sanghyuk's better judgment, pulling the blanket of anxiety from his mind; he found himself leaning dangerously close to Hakyeon as the night waned and the blue fell away from the sky, leaving only a dusty black.

 

It was well after nine when they left the restaurant, Hakyeon keeping steady hold of Sanghyuk's elbow as he stumbled over parking curbs, the occasional shrub that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He wanted, desperately, to pull out of Hakyeon's reach; it was humiliating to be lead like an invalid, as if his bones had been broken, or possibly his head.

 

'Hakyeon, really, I'm _fine_.'

 

But Hakyeon was unrelenting. It was only after they had come to the car that he released his grip on Sanghyuk's arm, and even then he opened the door. If his face hadn't been so serious, Sanghyuk may have made a joke. But once inside the car, having tumbled in as if forced by hand to sit at once, Sanghyuk realized just how much of his vision was blurred. He tipped his head back and felt the car jump to life a moment later.

 

'You know, Hyukie, you can always call me if you ever wanted to go out and do something. If the others are busy like they were tonight.'

 

'Oh.'

 

'Oh?' Hakyeon laughed. 'Is that all?'

 

'Well,' Sanghyuk squirmed. 'I'll admit the thought never crossed my mind.'

 

Silence followed this confession and lasted a long while after, the only sound that of Ella Fitzgerald's gentle crooning; _sweet dreams till sunbeams find you / sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you_. It was only as the song came to an end that Sanghyuk realized Hakyeon had been singing along.

 

 _dream a little dream of me_ , he whispered; and Sanghyuk, immersed beneath the first waves of sleep, felt he could.

 

'Say, why don't we do something this week?' Hakyeon asked, rather suddenly, as he pulled in front of the estate. The house leered overhead, made of shadows; all the fields rustling gently and bleached in moonlight.

 

'Like what, hyung?'

 

'It's kind of silly, but I was asked to attend a performance. To critique it, I suppose, but I never really like going alone.'

 

'What's the performance?'

 

Hakyeon flushed lightly, but the color swarmed his face all at once and could be seen clearly beneath the car's interior light. He was beautiful, Sanghyuk thought. 'That's the silly part. It's a rendition of _Love Letters_.'

 

Sanghyuk groaned. ' _Really_?'

 

'I _know_ ,' Hakyeon smiled. 'It's terribly depressing, but it's promised to be a good performance.' Then, quietly, he said, 'It's not really a play one goes to alone, is it?'

 

'No.' Sanghyuk rubbed at his forehead. A nervous tick that only made him feel worse; his palms were awfully clammy. 'Are the others going?'

 

'I can invite them if that would make you more comfortable.'

 

It wouldn't. Not in the slightest. But it was the severity of Hakyeon's gaze: intent, and glowing, that had Sanghyuk nodding without thought. But he wished to take it back immediately.

 

'Thursday, then. I guess there's no point in picking you up after class. I can give the address to Taekwoon and he'll bring you.'

 

Lingering between the warmth of the car and the open air of all the fields, spread greatly in every direction, Sanghyuk wished to fall back into the seat. He wished to stay right here, all night, as the music grew to a blooming crescendo; all the night coming to an end as perfectly as he could hope for.

 

'Sanghyuk?'

 

'Yes, that's fine. I'll go with Taekwoon.'

 

'You're alright?'

 

'Yes,' but he wasn't. 'I'll see you Thursday, hyung. Thank you for,' he shrugged. 'Everything, I guess.'

 

With the car door closed, and thus all of the sound closed within it: Hakyeon, waving genially through the tinted windows, Sanghyuk thrust his hands into his pockets and walked miserably toward the estate which was, in the very sense of the word, the last place he wanted to be.

' _Love Letters_!' Jaehwan declared. 'Can you believe he wants to see fucking _Love Letters_? What is he, a sadist?'

 

'Masochist, actually,' said Hongbin.

 

It was early morning and the five of them, gathered in the breakfast nook, sat blearily tired; the only light that of the white winter light streaming from the bank of windows.

 

Jaehwan, coddling a mug of coffee which steamed across his glasses, said, 'I can't really stand that play.'

 

'Then don't go,' Taekwoon told him.

 

'I won't! I refuse to. It's so _gloomy_.' He turned suddenly to Wonsik who was in the middle of a very great, very loud, yawn. 'Unless you want to go?'

 

'No, that's alright.'

 

'We can stay on campus.'

 

'Hmm,' Wonsik agreed. 'If you want.'

 

'We can go to the bars!'

 

'You're going, aren't you?' Hongbin asked Sanghyuk. He was draped tiredly over the table, his face pillowed within his arms. Taekwoon leaned over him to retrieve the empty mug Hongbin had been nursing for the better half of twenty minutes.

 

Sanghyuk cleared his throat. It seemed, the others had not realized he had left the night before, and hadn't a clue whom he had been with. He wanted, in all seriousness, to keep it this way.

 

'Yeah,' he said slowly. 'I've never seen it acted out before.'

 

'God,' Jaehwan groaned. 'Just you fucking wait.'

 

'I've read it, hyung, I have an idea of what it's going to be like.' He looked to Hongbin who had now closed his eyes; Taekwoon settled in beside him on the bench, a plate of scones in front of him. 'I think it'll be nice.'

 

'Very romantic,' Taekwoon muttered. 'I don't know why we never went to see it before.'

 

'I never thought of it,' Hongbin said without opening his eyes. 'It _will_ be nice, though, Hyukie. Don't you think, Taekwoon?'

 

Sanghyuk etched invisible words across the tabletop. He thought how stupid it was of him to bring the others into this; and how, if he had never opened his mouth, it would be he and Hakyeon alone. A car ride into town, the windows open and the drab feeling of being left out fading away as the lights of campus dimmed under night.

 

'What's wrong with _you_?' Jaehwan pestered, lightly.

 

'Tired,' Sanghyuk answered.

 

'Well, why don't you go back to bed then? You look so depressed it's killing me.'

The week had passed, as they so often do, in a prolonged blur. Sanghyuk couldn't remember what he had had for dinner the night before, nor recall without great thought what had been for breakfast just that morning, and by Thursday a crippling weight had befallen him in an overwhelming sweep of emotion. It seemed a dark cloud formed over his head, and he found himself pulled by the wind through the courtyards, the lapels of his overcoat blown forward. His book-bag was clasped loosely in one hand, and dangled freely by his side as he made his way toward Woolley House.

 

Once to the dorms, he shouldered into his room, leaving his book-bag on an armchair beside the window. Then, with a dramatic flare, he threw himself onto the bed, his arms extended above his head. It seemed every crevice between his bones filled with a terrible desire to go back in time, to tell Hakyeon that _yes—_ he would _love_ to attend _Love Letters_ with him, just the two of them. _What would it have been like?_ , he wondered, and imagined: sitting in the front row, for Hakyeon would never sit anywhere else, their pamphlets open in front of them and their knees brushing—just slightly—as the production began.

 

It was only a few hours before he was to get ready, but as the day inched by, at an alarmingly slow rate, Sanghyuk felt he'd be left to wait forever. It wasn't until a quarter to six—just as Sanghyuk was rising from the confinement of his bed, head half-reeling with the boredom of the day—that Wonsik, dressed in a grubby t-shirt and open flannel button-up, materialized in the doorway. An unfiltered cigarette jutted stylishly from the corner of his pursed mouth.

 

He reached for the wrinkled front of Sanghyuk's shirt, pinching the collar between his fingers. 'Going dressed like this, then?' Said playfully enough, Sanghyuk smiled.

 

'You're really not going, hyung?'

 

'Not a chance. Jaehwan's already got the whole night planned.'

 

'Well, what are you doing after?'

 

Wonsik released his hold on Sanghyuk's collar. 'Not sure. It'll be late after, won't it?'

 

Sanghyuk imagined it would be. The show didn't start until half seven, and the production time alone would be two hours; it would take more than a great effort to return to campus before ten o'clock, not that he intended to keep track of time.

 

'Probably.' Sanghyuk unclasped the buttons of his shirtsleeves, leaving it on the armchair by the window. 'Maybe you'll be awake when I get back though? I have class in the afternoon tomorrow, and if you wanted to get lunch with me, hyung, I wouldn't mind.'

 

Wonsik accepted this small proposal with a nod, a terse smile that lifted his eyes quickly; and as the two pushed down the empty corridor toward the unisex bathroom, Wonsik asked, 'Aren't you nervous, Hyukie?' with a conspicuous smile in his tone. It brought a great rush of heat to Sanghyuk's face.

 

'Fuck off,' he murmured, miserably.

 

'No, I'm being _serious_ ,' Wonsik laughed.

 

'Of _course_ I'm nervous, but you already _knew_ that.'

 

Sanghyuk despaired with a comical roll of his eyes. He dismissed Wonsik's teasing gait with a theatrical wave of his hand, and left his clothes folded on the inside of the shower stall, a towel wrapped about his waist. And with a wistful sigh, one partly forced with a smile tacked on the end, he cozied into the nearest stall and ran the water.

 

'You really shouldn't be this way,' Wonsik said through the plastic curtain. Sanghyuk could just make out the blurred image of him, distorted greatly. 'It's only Hakyeon.'

 

'You say that every time.'

 

'Isn't it the truth, though? He's cool, Hyukie, but he wouldn't say anything to make you uncomfortable. I bet, you know, if he actually thought you were so nervous, he'd probably call the whole thing off.'

 

Sanghyuk grew troubled the longer he stood beneath the hot spray of water. He listened as Wonsik trailed off into an expressive monologue of how Hakyeon was, in the utmost respectable way, the only person who would probably take pity on Sanghyuk's embarrassment. But of course, Sanghyuk knew this already. He knew that Hakyeon, in his three-piece suits and his absolutely tailored life, would be the first to overlook a last minute excuse not to attend the performance. He would hear Sanghyuk's reasoning as to _why_ he couldn't possibly show for _Love Letters—“I can't breathe around you; my feelings are a terrible combination of dread and contempt and a pining so constant, it seems it will kill me”_ —and accept each lovelorn word as it was: a dramatic rendition of all the emotions swarming Sanghyuk's insides. But no matter the excuse, it wouldn't be the truth. There was, in fact, no reason why Sanghyuk didn't want to be around Hakyeon, for he wanted to be near Hakyeon all the time, wishing in ways that Hakyeon would call him, or show up unannounced to take him somewhere alone. It was the simple fact that Sanghyuk wondered _what if_ ; a consistent question that was never answered. What if Hakyeon didn't like him after knowing him so well? What if, in his extreme attempts of gaining Hakyeon's affection, he was spurned instead.

 

He groaned loudly, frustrated.

 

Wonsik laughed. 'Come on, you'll be _fine_.'

 

And as Sanghyuk dressed in his pressed lilac shirt, a pinstripe vest over top; and all of it tied together by a solid black overcoat, he felt a little better. He definitely looked a great deal better: cleanly shaven, with his hair styled away from his face.

 

'Good?' he inquired.

 

Wonsik gave him a brazen thumbs-up.

It was after dark by the time Sanghyuk fell into the backseat of Taekwoon's car, and later still when they arrived at the theater, a much larger auditorium than he was used to performing in.

 

Hakyeon waited, politely, by the front doors, his wool coat cradled in his arms.

 

'You look—' _Amazing_ , Sanghyuk wanted to say— 'really nice, hyung.'

 

Hakyeon beamed, and squeezed Sanghyuk's bicep tenderly. It was all the conversation he was willing to give, and as they entered the dimly lit theater, following in cadence down the slender aisles between seats, to a stretch of chairs near the front, Sanghyuk found himself falling into a slight comfort. It was the lights, the commotion of live audience; small accents to an environment he was used to. He sat beside Hakyeon, Taekwoon and Hongbin on the opposing side; and on the outskirts, he felt a little strange, but essentially at ease.

 

It was after the lights turned out, and the sweeping chorus of voices began the story that Sanghyuk melted into his seat. At first, he found himself swept along with the dialogue, following gracefully as the scenes switched, the actors portraying each character just the way he had imagined when reading the playscript; but as the story prolonged, and the theatrics set in—the lead character falling into a turbine womb of alcohol and prostitutes, failing in marriage and family—that Sanghyuk found himself peeking over at Hakyeon, wishing in a way to witness all emotional response he emitted. And he saw: the slightest dampness of Hakyeon's eyes, his mouth pulled down into an austere frown; he held his hands tightly within his own lap, and Sanghyuk, rather thoughtlessly, wished to reach over and hold them.

 

Hakyeon caught him looking, and in their shared fluster, Sanghyuk pointedly looked away. It was then Hakyeon leaned over and touched Sanghyuk's arm. He whispered, 'Having fun?'

 

Sanghyuk, afraid he would speak too loudly, nodded.

 

'After this, do you want to get something to drink?'

 

He looked over Hakyeon's shoulder to Taekwoon who was watching the stage more-or-less rather bored, and Hongbin who was enamored of the performance. Would they attend too? He didn't dare ask.

 

'Sure, hyung.'

 

They fell back into silence, and the story continued on, but no longer was Sanghyuk paying much mind.

 

After, as they all stood around in a cluster, warding off in their shared cigarettes and timely conversation, the crisp wind of early winter, Hakyeon announced, 'Sanghyuk and I have plans, but I'll see you two tomorrow? At the estate.'

 

Taekwoon lingered, partly amused but mostly perplexed. Sanghyuk was sure if it wasn't for Hongbin who quickly tore Taekwoon toward the parking lot, a knowing smile pressing dimples into his soft cheeks, they would have never left.

 

'What'd you think?' Hakyeon asked, right away. He was waiting for Sanghyuk to stomp out his cigarette, to follow toward the car.

 

'The performance? It was great, hyung. I'm glad I came.'

 

Quietly, Hakyeon agreed, 'Me too.' It was then, Sanghyuk noticed, it was as if their conversations had a habit of teetering off, of being left with an ellipses right at the end, leading elsewhere neither of them took the conversation to. But it was a silence that didn't bring a cluster of nerves to Sanghyuk's belly, but rather it was a calming quiet that he welcomed greatly. Within this positive silence, Sanghyuk found it easier to appreciate the stretch of forest around them; hemlock trees abound, and all the fields turned a dusty grey as frost coagulated thickly.

 

The radio was on, and the motor hummed comforting as Hakyeon drove over shallow potholes, ice on the roadsides that quickly dispersed as the blacktop faded all at once to a dirt road. Pebbles were spat against the windshield, the sway of bare branches appearing like nimble fingers against a feathery grey sky; cloud, like water, streamed over the moon, against unyielding winds.

 

'Where are we?' Sanghyuk inquired upon stopping. The car was parked at the end of a long drive.

 

'My place.'

 

'We're having drinks here?'

 

'Is that alright?' Hakyeon had yet to turn off the car, and rising all around them was a cornucopia of smoke and frosted flurries; Sanghyuk opened the door in a silent acceptance of their whereabouts. Hakyeon bit the corner of his mouth, presumably to keep from smiling.

 

It was a modest place: a single leveled adobe, with wood paneled walls that reminded Sanghyuk of a time-warp far different than the Victorian styled home that was Taekwoon's estate. Here, it was as if they had stepped out of reality and into an old sitcom; the carpet was plush beneath Sanghyuk's feet, floral print cushions on a suede sofa. It was such an incredible difference of what Sanghyuk had expected that standing, bewildered, in the doorway seemed of appropriate response.

 

'I know,' Hakyeon deadpanned. 'It's awful,' but there was a spark of amusement in his tone. 'It used to be my mother's place, and I never redecorated.'

 

He moved with ease through the spacious, low-ceiling living room, to a small bar set up beside the fireplace. There were bottles of scotch, of copper colored rum that Sanghyuk had never drank before, and below the bar was a small port like a freezer. Hakyeon pulled out a bucket of ice, his motions so fluid it was obvious this was something he did often, if not every night.

 

'Have you read this?' he asked in passing, slipping a book into Sanghyuk's hand. It was _The Price of Salt_ , its cover mangled and aged; Taekwoon's name was scribbled almost illegible on the front page. 'I just finished it the other day. It's rather good, really kind of sad, but I thought maybe I'd make a playscript for it. If I can have it verified by the school board, of course.'

 

It was a familiar story, one Taekwoon had spoken quite a bit about the previous summer, but it was ultimately lost to Sanghyuk. 'I haven't read it, no.'

 

'Shame. You'll need to if I'm going to give you the leading male role.'

 

Sanghyuk's heart gave a steady lurch. 'What if I'm not any good at it?'

 

'We can run lines together, if you'd like. Right here, after class. We can practice even before I give the script out, so when try-outs come about, you'll be ready.'

 

'Isn't that favoritism, hyung? A little bit of cheating?'

 

'Well, yes.' Hakyeon offered a repentant smile; paired with an almost invisible shrug, it tugged deeply at Sanghyuk's heart. 'I really just want to cast you, Hyukie, so I hope you'll do well.'

 

Desperate to please Hakyeon, Sanghyuk nodded intently. He promised, 'I'll try my best,' and accepted the drink offered him. It was a strange concoction of colors; two shades of brown layered on one another, like oil atop water. _Black and tans_ , Hakyeon offered as he collapsed onto the sofa, and patted the open spot beside him; beckoning modestly for Sanghyuk to stop loitering about the living room.

 

Once sat, it was a wonder the current between them—so electrical it came as pinpricks across Sanghyuk's arms—didn't seem as palpable to Hakyeon as it was to Sanghyuk. As Hakyeon sipped his drink, one knee bouncing to a sluggish beat Sanghyuk was not aware of, he found himself growing idle; a buzzing in his palms that made his whole body itch.

 

How awful it was, he realized, to sit so still and strangely next to the one person he wanted to be beside more than any other.

 

'How about some music?' Hakyeon offered. His drink left in Sanghyuk's hand, and the shuffle of his bare feet against thick carpet, and then: Billie Holiday, the swell of trumpets, and her voice so soothing Sanghyuk recognized it as the same voice that had played on the radio his first night with Hakyeon. She sang of moonbeams and gloom clouted Sundays; a lift in spirit as Hakyeon made his way back to the sofa, with a doleful sort of beauty having curtained his eyes.

 

It was then, as Hakyeon took back his drink Sanghyuk had been holding, and he fell casually into place on the sofa, head tipped back as he swayed ever-so-slightly to the swelling music, that Sanghyuk felt the pangs of longing burrow deeply inside him. He never wanted, ever so badly, to reach out and place a hand on Hakyeon's face, to feel him, or kiss him, or just let him know all the things he so deeply longed to say. This desperation was met with a heady realization that, no matter what he did, he couldn't stop himself from doing it now.

 

Hakyeon leaned his head to the back of the sofa, watching with half-lidded eyes as Sanghyuk first reached for him, then placed his fingertips to the softness of his cheek.

 

'What are you doing?' he asked faintly, his tone light but perceptive. There was very little Sanghyuk could say, for their faces were now only a hairsbreadth away; he could feel the warmth of Hakyeon's breath brush against his mouth.

 

'I don't know,' Sanghyuk said miserably. He pulled away all at once, certain he had made a terrible mistake. He feared for a moment that he would be forced to live in this awkward exchange for the rest of time, for there was nowhere he could run to. This was not Taekwoon's estate, nor the comfort of the dorms; it was Hakyeon's own personal place, one where he slept and ate and lived, and ultimately there was no way Sanghyuk could leave.

 

'Hyuk.'

 

'Sorry, hyung, I'm just—' he stared at the drink between his hands. _Drunk?_

 

'Is that what this is all about?'

 

 _This_ , Sanghyuk wondered; what _was_ this? He chortled awkwardly, a rueful sort of laugh that held no traces of humor within it. It was a painful trill of voice that tapered into silence as fresh embarrassment washed through him. He gave Hakyeon a side glance, and offered, rather dumbly, another apology. But this one was not met with tender sympathy as the previous had been.

 

'All this time,' Hakyeon said flatly. His fingers brushed the back of Sanghyuk's hair, and in this moment: his face lifted. His mouth opened in a smitten grin that was at once concealed behind the back of a hand; he lay his cheek against one forearm, tucked into his elbow.

 

'I thought you didn't like me,' he said briskly. 'Honest to God, thought you couldn't stand being around me and that's why you kept running away.' He quieted Sanghyuk before he could do more than open his mouth. 'Don't apologize again, Hyukie, it's alright.'

 

Suddenly, and all at once, Sanghyuk rose to his feet. He placed his drink on the coffee table, virtually untouched, and took a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his trousers.

 

'I need to step outside,' he murmured lamely, and darted out the front door. But once there, alone, in the cold dark, Sanghyuk could barely light his cigarette. His hands trembled under the cold, the rising tension in the pit of his stomach; had he been so terrible at showing any sign of emotion that Hakyeon really believed he'd been hated? He slumped forward with his forehead cradled against his palm.

 

'Hey.'

 

Sanghyuk startled. 'Yeah?'

 

'You didn't take your coat.' Hakyeon stood, partly concealed in lamplight—sallow light brightly strewn across his otherwise shadowed face. Hugged against his chest was Sanghyuk's overcoat.

 

'That's alright, I'm not cold.'

 

'No?'

 

'No.' Sanghyuk tried to smoke, but discomfort surged relentless. He thought of dropping the cigarette, of plummeting down the porch and to the car where he would wait until Hakyeon caught on, and drove him back to campus. But then, without any warning at all, Hakyeon's arms wrapped tightly around Sanghyuk's middle, effectively pinning his arms to his sides.

 

Nothing was said. The silence swelled, weighty over the cry of the cicadas, the flutter of tree branches high overhead. Sanghyuk closed his eyes as Hakyeon's breath ghosted the shell of his ear. His chest was firm, all of his limbs lanky and slender but wound so tightly about him.

 

'Do you like me?' Sanghyuk asked, curiously. He braved a sideways glance and was caught within the ebb of Hakyeon's daring eyes, the sweet rush of breath across his face. Without thought, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Hakyeon's cheek; then, his mouth. It happened so slowly it was as if this moment, extended to the very end of time, would last forever: Hakyeon's arms around him, his mouth trembling against Sanghyuk's own.

 

'Stay a little longer?' Hakyeon asked.

 

It was now that it felt his life had parted into two equal halves of one whole. As Sanghyuk nodded, and allowed Hakyeon to take him by the hand, it was as if this was the **after** image of his life. He was now on the opposing side of all the questions he had wondered for so long: what if Hakyeon ever found out? what if he knew that all those times Sanghyuk had fled, he'd wanted nothing more than to hold Hakyeon's hand _—_ just as he was doing now?

 

First kicking off their shoes beside the door, Sanghyuk followed Hakyeon through the house, the whisper of carpet beneath his bare feet.

He didn't return to Woolley House until well after two, the sky brazenly lit from cotton-like clouds that moved freely with the flow of winds. He had thought for a split second of asking Hakyeon to come back with him, but for what, he wondered? What would they do beside sit in the closed in dark, cold emitting from thin glass windows; surely, it would only get them both in trouble if anyone noticed who was coming and going. And yet: he didn't want to leave the comfort of Hakyeon's car. He slouched with his buckle undone, the radio cutting in and out of traffic reports as the weather blew perilous, growing to a winter crescendo.

 

'We'll see each other tomorrow,' Hakyeon offered, lightly. 'At the estate.'

 

Sanghyuk's smile quickly faltered. 'With everyone else.'

 

'Maybe we shouldn't let anyone know just yet.'

 

 _Know—_ know what? 'Yeah, of course.'

 

'I'm not your teacher, but I _am_ your instructor, and... I like being your instructor. I'd hate for them to get the wrong idea.'

 

He knew then that it wasn't the others Hakyeon was worried about; not Wonsik, with his growing affections for Jaehwan; Taekwoon, who would rather die than be without Hongbin—no, it wasn't them Hakyeon was worried about. It was the stagehands, the support, the Dean of Academic Affairs. What would they say if they had known all night Sanghyuk had sat with his arm about Hakyeon's shoulders, watching Broadway musicals with the volume turned down and Hakyeon's mouth pressed keenly to his neck.

 

He touched the sore spot just under his jaw, certain that there was a mark he could enthuse about in the morning—would he tell Wonsik? of course something like this wouldn't simply go unnoticed by any of the group, but what was the excuse he would use?

 

Hakyeon leaned over and pressed a kiss so light it verged on chaste against Sanghyuk's brow, and then he leaned farther still as to open the passenger door from the inside.

 

'Go on. You need your sleep. You have class in the morning anyway.'

 

Eventually, Sanghyuk bid goodnight and stumbled over the dew frosted courtyard, where the skylarks slept soundly in high branches of dying leaves; the stretch of lawn bleached white beneath moonlight of disorientating brightness. It looked like late morning when Sanghyuk finally shouldered into his room, the blankets cold as he wound them about himself, and all of his bones aching to be back with Hakyeon.

There came an effort with the slow decline of December that Sanghyuk, struggling beneath a covert regard for Hakyeon, found impossible to wade. There had never been anything quite as strange as the way he felt when Hakyeon would walk toward him from across the auditorium, his eyes downcast on a clipboard, a playscipt, speaking into the ear-piece of his cellphone. It was far worse when the two of them, clandestinely enclosed beneath the stage, would tip-toe around one another; Hakyeon's hands lingering far too long on the lapels of Sanghyuk's jacket, or Sanghyuk himself stepping too close over a chasm of secrecy neither of them could successfully keep forever. It was like toeing a line so furtive it laid in plain sight; everyone could see it, though no one dared notice it.

 

Weekend evenings were spent among the birch trees, the forest outside of the estate, where they would trek through shallow mounds of ice and snow, Hakyeon always with a smile firmly in place. And it was only here that Sanghyuk, drenched with a melancholic yearning to be near Hakyeon at all times, would grasp the other in his arms, his mouth biting gently across the sharp angle of his jaw. It was when they, alone atop the widow's walk, could stand cheek to cheek, blood pumping briskly to warm their frozen hands and cold bitten noses, that Sanghyuk felt at ease. He would push his hands up the back of Hakyeon's shirt and feel his heart stagger miserably within his throat—how alive he felt when Hakyeon's hands would thread through his hair.

 

'You're so handsome,' Hakyeon breathed one evening, far into December; the sky was an unearthly white. The kind of white that only winter could provide.

 

Half asleep and hugging, rather tightly, the porch pillar, Sanghyuk smoked his lucky strike cigarette and offered only a slight nod in response.

 

With a scoff, Hakyeon turned away, pretending not to notice when Sanghyuk's outstretched hand beckoned him nearer. Until finally the wind blew too rigorously, the lapels of Hakyeon's coat forced open. Sanghyuk had taken him by the collar of his coat then, and reeled him into his arms like the great whale of Captain Ahab's dreams; and it seemed that in many ways, this was what they were.

 

Something of a dream.

It was a Friday evening when the two of them, pacing circles around one another, spoke carelessly in the dressing room; Hakyeon, watching his phone rather than Sanghyuk, promised they would do something tonight. Just the two of them.

 

'Like what?' Sanghyuk asked from his corner of the room. He was unbuttoning the front of a costume jacket: a frayed tweed that looked like something Jaehwan would own. Worn patches covered the elbows, and with a Stacy Adam's fedora atop his neatly combed head, Sanghyuk looked every bit in character, right down to the patent leather of his shoes.

 

'Is there something you have in mind?'

 

'No,' Sanghyuk said simply. 'I just want to be with you.'

 

Hakyeon looked directly into Sanghyuk's eyes then, something he didn't often do when alone in class, but when it happened, like now, Sanghyuk would feel a burst of warmth in the pit of his belly, all the air inside him whirring cyclonic.

 

'Charmer,' Hakyeon muttered fondly. He looked pointedly back at his phone and then inched out of the dressing room, calling softly over his shoulder, 'I'll pick you up from Taekwoon's. About eight o'clock.'

 

But it had been closer to ten when Sanghyuk, draped lazily over the window bench with a bottle of stout, finally saw the familiar blue glare of Hakyeon's high-beams, far off on the dirt road. He startled and took his overcoat from where it lay, crumpled, on the back of the Baldwin; and with faint regard to Wonsik, whose back was turned to him, and Jaehwan, who was rather drunkenly trilling along the piano keys, laugh lines like constellations across his gentle face, Sanghyuk slipped out of the library and past the rest of the estate that seemed, upon first glance, entirely empty. This wasn't true, of course. Taekwoon and Hongbin had stolen away to farther parts of the house. The cellar, perhaps, where Taekwoon kept the imported wine and cigars, for the balcony and widow's walk were far too cold this time of year.

 

Sanghyuk opened the passenger door, poking his head inside. 'Hello.'

 

'Hello,' Hakyeon laughed. 'How are you?'

 

'Is anyone looking?'

 

He peered over Sanghyuk's shoulder, eyes rolling over the house in quick, darting motion. Then, he shook his head. 'I don't think so —Oh.' He laughed again, softly this time, as Sanghyuk kissed him quickly, then fell, gracelessly, into the seat.

 

'What are we going to do tonight?' Hakyeon inquired, pulling away from the curb.

 

'Let's just go back to your place. It's late anyway.'

 

And once there, the clock chimed forty-five after. The night grew dark as the new moon burned quietly from afar; Sanghyuk leaned comfortably against the Frigidaire as Hakyeon brewed coffee in a French press. He reached out and touched the slope of Hakyeon's back, where his spine curved into his shoulders, and with his hands moving gently over the nylon material of Hakyeon's shirtsleeves, Sanghyuk kissed the nape of his neck.

 

Gooseflesh rippled across Hakyeon's neck, a shiver touching his spine as he jolted and wriggled away. 'You're going to get yourself burned.' He was pouring the boiling water into the carafe.

 

'When can we tell people?' Sanghyuk despaired.

 

'Tell them what?'

 

'About us? How you're so fond of me, hyung.' He smiled despite the growing unease he felt winding like a tight string about his heart. He knew by the look in Hakyeon's eyes, a faintly concealed burst of guilt that passed almost unnoticeable—there, and then gone—that the answer was not one he so badly wished to hear.

 

'Hyung?'

 

'Not as long as we're both at Yonsei.'

 

Hakyeon said this with such certain clarity, as if he was speaking from a book of rules rather than from his own subconscious; Sanghyuk shrank away.

 

'Don't,' Hakyeon warned. He smoothed his hands over the expanse of Sanghyuk's chest, his palms feeling so small through the cotton of Sanghyuk's shirt. 'I know you want to tell them, Hyukie, but we really can't.'

 

'Ever?'

 

'I'm sorry,' was all he would offer, but it was the sorrowful way his voice dropped two octaves; deeply moved, and profoundly depressed. Hakyeon nuzzled the cold tip of his nose to the underside of Sanghyuk's jaw. 'Does it really matter so much to have everyone know?'

 

'Well, I don't know, hyung —Yes.'

 

'Isn't it enough that _we_ know?'

 

'I suppose.'

 

'You _suppose_?'

 

Sanghyuk laughed deeply, unable to contain the thrum of his own heart; so much of them seemed so much the same. He encircled his arms around Hakyeon's thin waist, tilting his head just so, able only then to take Hakyeon's mouth with his own.

 

'Yes, it's fine. It's enough, hyung,' _because I love you_ , he thought wondrously.

 

Later, after the coffee was drank and replaced by the rich flavor of red wine—the sound of glass tinkling like bells from afar—Etta James played softly from the radio; she sang of church bells ringing and choirs singing, she watched her love walk down the aisle and Sanghyuk, enamored of the way Hakyeon fit so perfectly between his hands, buried his face into the warmth of his neck as they swayed in place beside the radio. His body was like a promise, so nimble in motion, his firm chest and sharp shoulders; all of him fitting so well in Sanghyuk's arms, but feeling so strong there. And as the music grew and the night waned steadily, Sanghyuk—robbed of his composure by the ebb of Hakyeon's steps—became weightless.

 

After, as he lay on the floor with plush carpet pillowed beneath his head, his limbs outstretched like the five points of a large star, Sanghyuk followed Hakyeon with his eyes as the radio was turned off, the wine glasses collected and put away. He thought of the first time he'd ever seen Hakyeon: so handsome, with bright light in his eyes. He'd stepped onto the auditorium stage wearing a cotton blue button-up, and pleated slacks that made his legs infinitely long, and he had spoken with eyes roaming over faces he knew, most he didn't, until finally he had stopped once he'd found Sanghyuk in the crowd, as if in some dream-like way they had recognized each other. It had been as if Hakyeon had spoken to him and him alone.

 

'What is it?' asked Hakyeon, quietly. He crouched onto the floor beside Sanghyuk, laughing with his hands in his hair.

 

Dazed, smiling, so enamored of everything, Sanghyuk grinned. 'Nothing.'

 

'Just thinking?' Hakyeon wondered; and curling up beside Sanghyuk with graceful ease, he placed a kiss atop his forehead. 'What are you thinking about all the time?'

 

 _You_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/lustfortaekwoon) / [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/Iovleo) pls feel free to talk to me about anything you'd like ♡
> 
>  
> 
> songs mentioned throughout:  
> ella fitzgerald, dream a little dream of me  
> billie holiday, gloomy sunday  
> etta james, all i could do was cry
> 
> [if interested, here is [a spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/synthbin/playlist/5sSwKRmAaEMoIkI6j9adYU) of the songs i imagined chasang falling in love to]


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